No Title Yet
by Rena Calieth
Summary: I'd like a few reviews before I go much further with this. I'm not sure how this will work yet, and if it is worth pursuing. Comments, please.


Yeah, I haven't finished reading the book, no I'm not as obsessed as some people. Blah. Alternate realtiy sorta fic... Don't flame me if I get stuff wrong. I write because I enjoy it, you read because you're supposed to enjoy it. No meanness please. First LotR fic, too.  
  
I guess this occurs after Gandalf leaves with Pippin. As of this time, I've only just begun the third book, so I have no clue what happens to the four after they leave them in Isengard.  
  
Everything copyright to original creators, etc, except for Anara, as she's the character I use in every fic. Blah.  
  
Ignore spelling mistakes of locations. I don't do research or refer to stuff that often.  
  
Beginnings are NOT my specialty. Killing off characters is. ^_^  
  
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The sun danced through the light of the trees, the grass was moved under feet, though not all feet moving. For some seemed to be moving without leaving passage, but they were there, and those too paused with curiosity beneath the foliage of a large and weathered tree. She rolled over. Or was she rolled over? It took a few moments and a bit of a groan before her eyes decided to open, and in doing so, a soft sound escaped her lips and she found herself pressed up against a tree, wishing she could sink inside it.   
  
Her hand closed over a peice of paper, and, distracted for a moment, she turned her eyes down to the crumpled parchment and blinked at it. She knew she was supposed to have it, but what it said, why she had it, and where it was from, she did not know, or she did not remember.  
  
"What's this, then?"  
  
She jumped, pulled back to what had woken her. Somewhat. A small head was poking out from around another tree, and she tilted her head as she looked at it. It wasn't a child, its face looked too old for that. But it was the height of one, she was sure.  
  
She turned her attentions to another figure, this one proper sized. Her head moved to tip to the other side, and she pursed her lips. Her eyes flitted to the note again, and she held it up, offering it. Offering up reason was always best, before you found yourself skewered. She turned her head as the letter was taken from her hand. Or cleaved in two, or perhaps riddled with arrows. She swallowed, looked again at the letter. "Ah..."  
  
The man holding the letter lowered it, holding his arm out to the other tall figure. He took it, and the small person... thing... wandered out from the tree to stand beside the man. He looked at her carefully, leaning forward to scrunch his eyebrows together to better examine her. She supposed.  
  
"Why would you be carrying a letter from Lothlorién?"  
  
She raised her eyebrows. "That's where it's from, then? That's intresting." The figures looked at her, and she looked back. A man, and elf, a dwarf, and a little person? Elf? Strange and skinny drawf? She looked the longest at the little thing, and finally; "If I may, what are you?"  
  
The little thing drew itself up, a proud look on his face, and dove in. "Me? I am a Hobbit. We call ourselves that, though we can be called Little People. In-"  
  
A hand was placed on the Hobbit's shoulder, and both he and she looked up at the man. "Do not say so much."  
  
The elf had finished with the letter and passed it down to the dwarf, who placed his axe down to read it. He looked at her, sternly, but it was obviously that was his usual look. That was the usual look for most. She thought.  
  
"The letter does not say much," the elf commented.  
  
"She has a cut on her head," the Hobbit said, and pointed.  
  
The dwarf finished reading, looked at her. "It is from her, no doubt, and for us. Yet, why would a young human woman carry a letter from the Lady of the Wood? The writing could belong to no one but her. It is far too beautiful."  
  
"Who?"  
  
The man took the letter, folded it carefully against his chest and slipped it inside his shirt. He looked, through his matted hair and dirty face strong, and she pressed her back against the tree, remembering that she had been scared awake. "What is your name?"  
  
She frowned slightly, struggled for it. "Ah... Anara. Yes, that's it."  
  
Eyebrows were raised, and some fell. She wanted to swallow. A hand was offered, holding a cloth. She looked at the hobbit, confused. "Wipe your head." She took it, slowly, pressed it against her forehead. When she withdrew it, she found a bit of blood, and wiped at it again. "Here now, you're missing it." And the small hand took the cloth again, scrubbed at the proper spot. She winced. "There," it said, and stepped back to tuck away the cloth into a pocket.  
  
"Do we leave her here, or take her, as the note has said?" The elf asked, looking at the man again.  
  
He seemed to considerd it for some time, stroking the letter through his shirt and keeping his eyes on her, and she kept her head down, avoiding those piercing eyes. "She will come with us, if she chooses to," he said finally, and she looked up. "Will you come?"  
  
She stared at him, and shook her head slowly. "Not until I know who it is I am with, or if I am to read that letter."  
  
The group looked at each other, but the Hobbit perked up quickly. "I am Merry, this is Gimli. Legolas, and Aragorn. And you are Anara. It is nice to meet you." And he bowed, holding out his hand. She took it after a moment, and her shook it, carefully, and smiled. She offered a small smile back.  
  
She stood up then, slowly, pressing her hands against the tree as she slid upwards, still staying back. Names did not mean they would not hurt her, but they seemed to accept the letter, what it said, and her. It was quite confusing, but when she stood, they seemed satisfied and began walking again.   
  
She frowned at the backs of Merry, Gimli and Legolas, and then at Aragorn, who had not yet moved. He seemed to be waiting for her, so she pulled at the cuffs of her shirt - brown and plain, and started walking. Her clothes were unfamiliar, though not much was right now. Darker pants, plain, stable boots, and her shirt. She looked at the others, all of whom wore grey cloaks, all similar.   
  
She looked at the man again, slipped her hands into the pockets of her pants, and began walking. 


End file.
